


Lucifer Likes to Watch

by Keitmeg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Barebacking, Episode: s07e09 How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters, Hallucifer, Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealous Lucifer, M/M, Minor Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Naked Cuddling, Possessive Dean Winchester, Rough Sex, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Touch-Starved, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keitmeg/pseuds/Keitmeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If it’s Bobby you’re worried about–"</p><p>“It’s not.” Sam cuts him off, perking up over the table with his elbows as he thumbs his temples, “it’s just I can’t, not with him watching.”</p><p>[In which Dean is touch-starved and Sam is worried Lucifer might interrupt. But the sex happens anyway and Sam develops his own ways to ignore his hallucinations. Dean is more than happy.]</p><p>Gosh, I suck at summaries. It's still pretty damn hot though, so knock yourself out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucifer Likes to Watch

**Author's Note:**

> Typos are mine, con-cri is welcomed.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

The reptile eyes of Amy Pond is what sends Dean out of his sleep with a muted gasp, he props up with his elbows dug into the harsh fabric of the torn sofa he’s claimed as his the moment they walked into this dingy house. He scans the dimly-lit room with a pair of evidently tired eyes, and when he sees that Bobby’s already down for the count in a sleeping bag at the very far corner of the room, it tells him that he and his little brother are the only ones still awake, so he straightens up.

Sam is still sitting at the table, eyeing the newspaper clippings under the blue shade of the battery-powered lamp, and drinking from a beer bottle every now and then.

Dean pushes his feet out of the couch to plank them on the floor, he grunts when he stands up and his muscles protest against the effort. It doesn’t escape his notice how Sam flinches fleetingly and it only makes him wonder what kind of crap Sam could be possibly seeing through his eyes right now. “Hey” he tries to whisper, but his whiskey-honed voice doesn’t exactly allow it.

Sam looks up with a start. He fumbles with the clippings and clears his throat, “hey, you’re up.”

Dean approaches him tiptoeing, but the smooth wooden planks still creak under his weight and he tsks. When he nears the light enough to see more clearly, Dean shoves his sleeve up to look at his watch, “two thirty!” he exclaims but it’s still whispered, “dude, isn’t it kinda late to be playing Inspector Gadget?”

Sam scoffs, “I’m not sleepy, ‘s all.”

Dean eyes his little brother’s trembling eyes, and worry slowly starts to sink in, “you OK Sam?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Said man shrugs indifferently.

“You really want me to answer that?” Dean asks hintingly.

When Sam deciphers the meaning, his smile drops and so do his eyes. “Yea,” he shifts and scratches his cheek, now bringing the papers together into a pile, “I’m fine.”

It breaks Dean’s heart.

They already get only a few hours’ sleep and it isn’t much to begin with, now with Lucifer riding shotgun in Sam’s grapefruit, the kid barely sleeps at all. And to be honest, Dean doesn’t know how long Sam can keep this up before everything crumbles down to pieces. For now, he wants Sam to sleep, to be more frank, he wants to be the one to help him sleep.

Determined, Dean darts his hand to Sam’s chin, he lifts it so Sam can look directly into his eyes. Dean gapes at the blending shades of blue and orange inside Sam’s eyes, it isn’t normal how he drowns in them, every damn time. He braces a hand over the table, not taking the other off of Sam’s chin as he ducks in, taking those thin and slightly parted lips in his, loving how Sam is meek and alluring as tremors of pleasure travel up and down his body, Dean can feel it all. He’s touched Sam more times than he cares to remember and he’s learned by now when his brother trembles with pleasure, or with fear, and this is definitely a pleasure-induced quiver. So he deepens the kiss, enjoying the resonation of saliva-sleeked lips smacking and sucking on one another.

Suddenly, Sam flinches into the kiss and pulls away almost instantly. “No.” he mumbles. “I- I can’t…”

Dean isn’t going to have it, “whatever kinda crap you’re seeing right now, Sam, it’s not real,” he bellows, “but this is” saying so, he dives in for another kiss, inserting his tongue to touch Sam’s, he slides his calloused fingers through the smooth strands of Sam’s hair to touch the scalp.

Sam moans into the kiss, and it’s the sweetest sound Dean’s heard in weeks. He notices how Sam lifts a hand to hold him by his forearm, clinging to sanity as it prevails even if it’s sort-lived because Dean is the one who pulls away and looks amused when his brother’s lids flutter with lust. “There’s a futon mattress in the next room.”

Sam apparently gets the messages as he shakes his head and looks towards Bobby’s direction, “He’s gonna hear us.”

“Ah he’s loaded.” Dean’s lips fall into a playful grin, “he’s got till down before he simmers down to his usually grumpy self.”

Sounds pretty convincing if you ask him, but Sam isn’t quite swayed yet. His hesitance is apparent by now as he glances over at the sleeping old man and then back at the papers before him, “Dean, I can’t.”

That’s a first.

Sam turned him down before, yes, but on rare occasions. On seriously injured and hurt occasions only. It baffles Dean to be honest when Sam rejects something like this. He knows his brother knows how this is important for the both of them, how it’s necessary to remind them how much of lonely and empty they could be without each other, “If it’s Bobby you’re worried about–“

“It’s not.” Sam cuts him off, perking up over the table with his elbows as he thumbs his temples, “it’s just I can’t, not with _him_ watching.”

Dean knows who Sam is talking about. But it’s been weeks since last time they touched and Dean needs this, he yearns for it.  And to hell with being selfish, not even the devil can take this away from him. So he kneels down, eyes on his brother’s all the while. “Sam,” he whispers gently, “there’s just you and me, you don’t have to worry about anything else, and if you do see him, just close your eyes.”

Sam looks like he is mulling over the possible scenarios of making love over a dirt-smeared futon with Lucifer watchstanding the show, and he finally comes to a decision. He pushes off his chair, dimples slowly deepening as he smiles to his brother, “alright.”

The room next door isn’t exactly any better, it doesn’t even have a fireplace, but Dean thinks they can make do with their body warmth alone. Sam has taken the lamp along so there’s no need to worry about light.

With everything that’s happened lately, Dean hates to place the burden on his brother but he can’t go on without getting the physical contact he so much needs. He knows Sam is already struggling to differentiate between hallucinations and reality, and he’s most likely still beside himself about Amy’s death, and all the other things Sam thinks is his fault –which are not, by the way. But He still adds his own persistent need to the pile of crazy Sam is trying so hard to clean, and there isn’t a shred of regret to his actions. He’s fucked up, they both are. They can’t get enough of each other and they know damn well others must have come to understand this fact. So if Dean says he wants to hold his brother, damn straight he will.

The gentle kisses and caresses morph into an eager change, all flailing hands that want to touch and feel the skin beneath. Stifled moans make their way out of the walls as the two men hump against one another, hungry for more than a touch. Dean dugs deeper into his brother’s skin and takes what he wants without a second thought of consideration because Sam is enjoying it, every last bit of it. Naked and sweat-crusted skin collides against one another. And after a grueling wait for when Dean takes his fingers out to replace them with something much more satisfying, Sam grows impatient, pushing against the fingers and whimpering every time they brush against his prostrate.

“Easy, Sam.” Dean soothes, placing languid kisses over the said man’s heaving chest. It’s then when he detects the signs of discomfort about his brother’s face, it immediately alerts him, “what is it?”

Sam shakes his head, his bleary eyes glazing over Dean’s, “just... hurry.” He says, breathlessly. The discomfort is still apparent and Dean can’t bring himself to ignore it this time around.

“Sam.” It’s an unspoken order that Sam understands very well.

“It’s Lucifer.” He rasps out, pushing against Dean’s fingers when they stop their ministration.

“What’s he saying?” Dean furrows, but his eyes turn a kind color which his brother trusts in like the gullible six year old he used to be.

“He’s-…” Sam gulps down is hesitation and sigh, “he’s touching me.”

The revelation almost blinds Dean with rage, even a hallucination is not allowed to touch what’s his, and it’s about time he gets it in that imaginary skull of his. To prove his point, Dean draw his fingers out so suddenly it makes Sam’s entire body tense and he whimpers at the loss, but soon relents with a pleasurable moan when Dean lines his rock-hard cock along the puckered entrance and pushes it in, groaning at the warmth and tightness welcoming him inside.

Sam is withering under him, stifling his moans using his forearm.

Dean thrusts deeper, grinding at times and thrusting head-on against Sam’s prostrate, knowing exactly how to make his brother go crazy for him, for _this_. It kind of sounds wrong when he thinks of it like that, but heck, his brother isn’t really mild now about hiding this from Bobby as he cries his lungs out.

The flushed face, the sweat-soaked skin and the lustily slanted hazel-blue eyes make Dean vibrate with an animalistic growl from the pit of his stomach. His brother coming undone for him, spreading his legs and begging for _more, harder, Dean!_ The whimpered _Oh fuck! There, fuck me there!_ drives Dean out of his mind.

He has no idea why Sam was expecting him to last longer than this without getting his grubby hands on him. Doesn’t he know that not a day goes by without Dean wanting to touch his little brother at every given occasion? It’s obvious, isn’t it? He gets moody and cynical when Sam rejects him, and he knows that only his little brother pampers him this good when he opens up like this, like he is now –locking bleary eyes with Dean’s hungry ones, wincing with pleasure whenever the deep thrusts make his hole tighten, and rasping out Dean’s name every time the latter bends down to take his lips in his.

There’s a moment when Sam flinches again and palms his neck, cursing to hell what only he can see, it’s not difficult to see that Sam is struggling with Lucifer wanting to do something to his neck, touch it, maybe, or... fuck, maybe Lucifer is using that poisonous tongue of his to lick the sweat droplets off of Sam’s skin. But with Sam hiding his neck like that, Lucifer can only enjoy the show.

Dean wants to grant his brother relief during this rough ride, Sam only came once and he’d like to help him to a second so he’d get weary enough to sleep. But when he cups the angry-looking cock, Sam mewls and grips his hand from the wrist, “don’t” he croaks out, his doleful eyes glint under the blue shade of the lamp when he glances up at his brother, “wanna come from your cock.”

It’s the last straw before Dean feels his orgasm looming in. _Fuck_ , Sam is seriously driving him insane, even his eyes are doing funny things to his stomach. Dean’s thrusts after that are faster but accurate as they hit Sam’s sweet spot constantly. Dean’s eyes narrow when he feels his come wanting to explode and he grunts noisily. Sam’s back arches over the mattress as he moans invitingly; moments later and they’re both coming.

The two don’t talk as they ride out the afterglow, and Dean pulls out, humming when his come spurts out of Sam’s twitching hole, coating his thighs and the futon. “Jesus fuck, Sammy.” He growls, “so fucking sexy.”

Sam gives a dopey smile as his eyes flutter shut.

Dean flops down beside him, panting relaxingly.

“Bobby definitely heard that.” Sam’s husky voice is muffled by his forearms.

Dean turns to face him, he parts Sam’s arms that are currently hiding his face and he takes in the strands of hair cascading the flushed and clammy face, the glittering eyes and the deep dimples, he loves Sam, he loves all of Sam. And he wouldn’t care if Bobby or freaking Lucifer or anyone heard, and if it wasn’t for his brother, he’d have gotten ‘Dean’s’ tattooed on his brother’s forehead just in case this douche of a Satan gets all cozy with what’s his. What with demons and every cryptid with razor-sharp teeth having a sick knack for wrapping their hands around Sam’s neck, that does it, Dean lunges forward to suck on a spot over Sam’s throat, ignoring how Sam squirms and eventually moans. “Mine, you hear me, Sammy? You’re mine.” He snarls in his deep voice, and for a moment, Sam looks astonished, dumbfounded even, but he soon relents with a sweet chuckle and buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, falling asleep without as much as a word.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sam's so fucking beautiful I don't know what to do with myself! I wish I was Bobby. T_T  
> Please leave kudos if you liked this ♥  
> Thanks to anyone who read, commented and left kudos!


End file.
